The Adventures of a Genius
by Haibara Ai z
Summary: A collection of one-shots all involving Ai Haibara in one form or another; many different pairing shall be explored, although I always lean towards Aixcon. If a particular one-shot receives major feedback, it may be expanded into a separate chapter story. Therefore, make sure to review your favourite ones.
1. Controversial Alteration

It is certainly odd.

First of all, Ran's vocabulary seemed to have expanded considerably overnight. I am not one to judge, but the Ran I know does not use- or know- words such as "insalubrious" to describe our left-overs from yesterday or "asinine" to refer to her dad's antics. Nor did she roll her eyes when I dropped food and exclaimed: "Komenasai!" She had even noted an error on the site I had been utilizing to complete my homework. Apparently, she now knew more in the matters of science than ever before.

I shove a mouthful of rice down my throat, resting the spoon onto the now vacant plate.

A thought occurs to me. Had she been compelled to watch scientific documentaries in an effort to attain Shinichi's level of knowledge? Was she tired of being left behind during my cases and discussions? Although… that scarcely justified her altered personality.

My tongue dabs the tiny pool of sauce marking the corner of my lip.

I sigh as she tosses me the recently washed sweater instead of wrapping it tenderly around my child self like she usually does; it is sprawled onto the floor- a careless jumble of overlaid folds. My fingers hook the border of the dejected object and I slide both arms through its orifices sequentially. Warm and soft: it embraces me in a dry-cleaned hug.

"Goodbye," I chirp innocuously. My eyes can hardly leave the sardonic smirk twisting her features as she flicks two fingers to the side in a casual salute.

Heels tapping softly against the sidewalk, I take my first step into the sunlight.

_Something… something is amiss._

* * *

**A few hours earlier… Haibara/Shiho…**

I wiggle my fingers groggily, raising my head from the level surface below. Straining to untangle the agglomeration of thoughts cluttering my mind, I bite into the air; teeth clashing together. I am shoved upright violently; a rush of information nudging me violently from the inside.

_The brain consumes 20% of the body's oxygen._

I clasp my hand against my forehead, rubbing it softly in a circular, perpetual motion. My lips press together, becoming a thin, taut line and my eyes narrow, flitting from the featureless wall to my finger. Precisely, my fingernails.

They are _pink. _Who in the world? I glare steadily at the vivid paint, pondering the various ways I would exert my revenge on the offender. Is it Conan? Or perhaps his nemesis, Kaito Kid?

I halt. There is something else which strikes me as odd. My legs are significantly longer than I last recalled. Have I become Shiho once more? Sheer terror rises in my chest as I contemplate the impending consequences of such a transformation… _they _would know. And _they _would hunt me down.

I place a tentative hand around the offending limb, my eyes broadening slightly. It is _larger. _Muscular, robust, bluish veins tracing an inconspicuous grid below the golden brown surface. Not wan and translucent like mine. My finger slides shakily along its athletic structure, outlining the defined rim of its protruding muscle- past the dim scars, past the tiny specks of dried blood, past the colorful patches of bruises, and through the grove which trails off into the heel.

It is not my leg. Not the leg of a frail, shut-in scientist. Not that of the child who values academics well beyond physical activity. Not that of the girl who's every step was calculated, never tripping, or falling, or _laughing_. Not that of a girl who pored over university-level textbooks whilst other seventh graders frolicked around. Not that of the one forced to conduct perpetual research, with mice as her sole companion. It is not my leg.

My gaze whips to the side as I stare in bewilderment at the glass before me.

It is _Ran's._

* * *

**Conan:**

I stop by Agasa's house as an afterthought. Crossing the threshold gingerly, my gaze flits around the cool, air conditioned house- unfamiliar in its stillness. I was accustomed to, perhaps tendrils of smoke leeching into the kitchen, a heap of demolished concrete lying below a crumbling gap in the wall, even jam and peanut butter smeared across the counter, remnants of a sloppy breakfast- something which differed from this pristineness which had been ordered as such by the ice queen: Haibara Ai.

I wipe the lingering smile off my face, still finding it amusing that a grown man could be pushed around so effortlessly by an apparent child. Although I must admit she is, nonetheless, intimidating. In a different way than Ran, though. Whereas Ran's mood, actions, and words are easy to predict, (although she _is_ physically _beast)_, Haibara is volatile- fickle- and enjoys messing with you psychologically. _Ah, the girls I associate myself with_, I mutter indecipherably.

"Agasa?" I call out, peering up the stairs. At this time, he should be on the verge of testing out a new invention.

A grunt and call ring down, followed by a peal of dulled "thumps," signifying his descent. "Hey, Shinichi-kun," I hear before the inventor appears. His tight silver curls and corpulent structure shift vertically as he bounces down the steps. A pen- which I imagine is not an ordinary one as springs have leapt out of its intricate wiring, a few rubber meshes sagging below- is placed in his fingers. I apprehend the invention with a faint smirk.

"Hey, Hakase. Where's Haibara?" I inquire, "She wasn't at school today."

The professor tips his head up in a moment of apprehension: "Ah, that. She left a note... apparently she's attending a conference on enzymes in order to further her research for the antidote."

I whistle disconcertedly, frowning: "She's going as… Haibara?" Why the heck would a child know anything about enzymes? Would they even let her get in? The ideas this girl has… I shake my head in disbelief.

"Apparently," Agasa shrugged, "she sent me a text message and she got in as a woman's daughter."

A lady? Did Jodie-sensei agree to help her get in? Otherwise… who else was in on the secret? My hands writhe around in my coarse jean pocket, a thoughtful daze overcoming me. My vision dims slightly as I narrow my line of vision.

_What is really happening here?_

* * *

**Haibara/Shiho:**

"…"

I inch closer to the mirror, scrutinizing my face with faint distaste... as well as unsuppressed awe. My features seem softer- my cheekbones less angular, the jut of my chin gentler, my eyes rather circular- but nonetheless sharper than I had seen the naïve girl peer through. My black hair falls in long, smooth strands over my shoulders, conserving its dark, sleek curves even as I shift position to lean up closer against the wall, arms sandwiching the mirror. In fact the surrounding meshes seem to gleam in the dim lamplight, framing my head like a halo.

_Angel_.

That's what Kudo-kun saw in her. She was his angel.

What happened to her? I am in her body, but had her mind entered mine? How is this possible- I mean, scientifically, it is not. Then is this all… magic?

My analytical mindset rejects this possibility immediately. But there is hardly anything else I can think of- unless someone has somehow conserved our two bodies as well as our brains, surgically switching both without damaging any of the neuronal framework.

I puff through pursed lips. _Ya right…_

And… would I really take the opportunity to return to my body if it ever did arise? I mean, Ran Mouri had friends my age, she has parents who are unrelenting in their affection for her, she is relatively safe, she has more responsibility- yet more freedom than I've ever experienced.

And, as much as I am unwilling to admit it, Kudo-kun loves her. If she cried, Shinichi would hold her, comfort her. Even though she cannot see him, he is there for her. He… he _cares._

I shake my head disgustedly. What was I thinking. I would be stealing her life. A cuckoo may insinuate the nest, but he will never be as beautiful as the robin. I am not and will never be the brave, caring figure she is. I am a traitorous monster, bound to my sin; I have murdered countless people whose names I deign to ignore. Cynicism is my mask- a virtually unbreakable shield; an armor layered with elusive, metaphorical statements, snappy remarks, and narrow-eyed smirks. A cool façade which I both loathe and cling onto frantically. I am not, and never will be Ran.

Then… why am I stuck in her body?

My forehead crinkles slightly as the foggy memories drift gradually into existence.

_Magenta strands of hair fluttering in the draft which wafts in from the unbolted door. As the cool air rushes over me, I shudder, an almost pleasant, tingling sensation materialising where the breeze meets my skin. I guard myself with childlike disinterest. My façade has been set. I do not allow her to even glimpse at the self I have buried beneath the mask._

_"Shiho." She states, almost matter-of-factly._

_The mask slips._

_I choke on the sharp intake of breath produced, faltering slightly. Shooting a cynical, wide-eyed glare at the girl's elfin features, my mind calculates and disposes of the various possibilities stemming from the one word. _

_"Shiho," my sister would pronounce smoothly._

_"Shiho," my parents would scroll, preceded by a "To our dear."_

_"Shiho," classmates would sneer, taunting. _

**_Shiho, _**_the organisation would fail to utter._

_No one pronounces my name in that manner unless they are listing a fact. Enumerating one name amongst stacks of redundant data. As if I am no more than that pronoun… a mere five-letter word._

_"You are mistaken," I manage to hiss; "my name is Haibara Ai. This is the residence of…"_

_She chuckles airily: "I am perfectly aware of this house's occupants." Something tugs at the hem of my shirt, beseeching me to run. But I cannot. Who is this? Who is this woman? _

_As if on command, as if she could sense the curiosity emanating from me, she stretches out her perfectly manicured fingers- not a fleck of grime soiling its perfection: "Akako."_

_And although it is not the ideal way to introduce oneself, she adds with unrelenting nonchalance: _

_"I know everything about you."_

* * *

**End of one-shot or first chapter if a lot of people review. Really, let me know what you think :). It's my first time writing this kind of stuff.**


	2. Music to the soul

Btw, these are just one shots/ story beginning that I may expand into real stories and will be written when I have ideas for them.

And about the last story beginning, I like holding back information to create suspense. I think it's considered a good thing when readers have a lot of question which haven't been answered and want to find out more. (Just to clarify)

This is… short. :P

* * *

**There is a piano soundtrack for the story at the link: (youtube dot com) watch?v=69w_xLHylxA**

* * *

Haibara's slim fingers stroke the keys gently, linking together to create a sorrowful melody. The notes ring softly, but poignantly, clutching her heart and wrenching at like one would wring a sheet of moist paper. _Drip. Drip. Drip. _She can almost hear the drip of the water dribbling from her metaphor. Almost feel its humidity brush against her cheek and soak her clothes.

The laughter. It had seeped into the house and struck her like lightning. Why does his childish chuckle beat in unison with her keys? Why does each hoarse heave strike a blow to a wound? Why does she feel anger and repulsion grow against her chest? Hatred? Why is it difficult to move anymore? She enters a quiet passage, the subtleness stripping her bare, making her feel more vulnerable than she's ever felt. It brushes against her soul.

No armour. No fortress. No… mask.

Her heart is dragged from her chest and thrust onto a table for the sight of all. She hates it. She wants to gather her amour and envelop herself in it, immerse herself in her façade. Yet, her exposure is somewhat healing. She feels liberated from the heavy weight of her ice castle; in fact, maybe if he glimpsed her true self, she _would_ be free. _But, _she smirks internally; _he would hate what he sees. _

The putridness in her heart, like an inky substance oozing out of her every pore, would repulse the Tantei-san. Ah yes.

_Dong! _The bell rattles her from her daze, her eyes fluttering open. She slides off her chair, planting both her bare feet onto the ground, and stumbling to a standing position. Haibara shuffles towards the door, the mask slipping smoothly over her features to eradicate all traces of emotion- to render her completely and undeniably indifferent. Casually, she unlocks the door and opens the door. "Don't you have keys, Kudo-kun?"

Raven strands fall over his startling blue eyes and she smothers the tingle this sight produces. _Perhaps he lost the key, _she reasons. "If you need the professor, he's up in his room. He can make a replica…"

She is interrupted by something falling against her. It is his body falling limply, loosely, the little girl supporting him in her arms. "K-kudo?" She feels her cheeks redden involuntarily. _What is happening…?_

"She's dead." Conan articulates softly. _She's..._ _dead?_ Haibara lets a gasp escape her armour, the boy turning his moist, cerulean eyes to meet hers. "I hid for so long… and she never knew. I never told her. I could have- I should have-" His glasses gleam, concealing his expression. But as she holds him, his sorrow and desperation seeps into her also- she knows the death through him. She relives her sister's demise. Just like that day, a pure, beautiful girl has died. Many will weep for her; she will be mourned by all.

_"I should have told her," he had said. _The girl pauses. What if I never tell him… what if I die, dwindle, and disappear without having ever told him? What would happen if I didn't? Her face felt wet again. _My mind is playing tricks once more, conceiving convoluted illusions which will only impede logic. _She reaches with slim fingers, raking through his tangled hair.

Haibara pulls him closer.

_Why not? _

"Kudo…" She whispers into the nook of his ear. "I love you."

_He will hate me, saying this at a moment like this. _But, unexpectedly, he starts to tremble. His hand quivers against her arm, his whimpers growing louder and more frequent. "Why?" He utters mournfully. "I can't save anyone."

"You don't have to," the girl lets her mask slip more, her voice growing more sincere, more earnest. Her restraint melts away in the candour of her approach. "This time, let someone be there for you."

And she smiles.

When he looks up, perhaps he shall smile too.

* * *

I was lazy so… it's not that descriptive DX Sorry. Anyways, for the past few weeks I was working on a new story called "Metamorphosis" which is Aixcon. So, please check that out… well only if you want to X3 ( s/9626340/1/Metamorphosis)

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Music to the soul part 2

It seems my last chapter was equivocal for some. There are some things I would like to clarify: Conan has _not _fallen for Haibara. He went to her as a friend who needed comforting. The reason she confessed is really just because I rushed to write it and didn't have time to pace it all out over several days or months for that matter. That will be done in the next two chapters or so ;) But you were right, guest. I just figured that at that point, it was the best way to end it quickly.

Since there were people who requested that it be continued and I feel that it's rather unfinished at the moment, I'll make this a three-shot:

* * *

Moonlight Sonata is the song for this chapter. Instead of making a recording which can't be accessed since I can't paste a link here, I'm just giving you the title of the soundtrack so you can search it up.

* * *

Over the next few weeks, Conan remains at Professor Agasa's. He is a spectre, moving from the television to the kitchen, then back to the television once more. Observing tragedies and murder cases without batting an eyelid, his eyes glazed, dulled, like those corpses he used to scrutinise so keenly. He cannot not allow himself to feel. For if he does, he is afraid he will be engulfed by his own wrath and remorse- that he will succumb to… revenge.

But when the sky grows murky and dark, his shadows grow even more tenacious. Guilt and Anger are ghastly tormentors, yet it is Fear who seems the cruelest of all. Insinuating itself into his mind- he wrings his hands over his head, mouth wide in a mute, terrified outcry- pupils darting frantically amongst a vast expanse of blue. His eyebrows are jammed together, creasing his forehead, ricking and twisting. He seems possessed, almost. Three ghosts have gained entry into the boy's being. _Ire, remorse, fear…_ It is at moments like these that he cannot evade them. It is at moments like these that she is there.

As he kicks and thrashes under the covers, she knows she cannot chase his ghosts entirely… but there is something she can do. She could never lie and tell him "everything's alright" for it is not. His entire world has crumbled before him.

Haibara slips besides him. She grabs the boy's scrawny shoulders and props him against the back of his bed. His movements grow sluggish, allowing her to press a glass against his lips and tip it forward. The water would dribble around, trickling down the boy's chin and splotching the covers- most of it lost in the process. But some would filter into his worn throat, soothing, splashing against its clammy walls, seeping further and further downwards until he felt it no more.

And, in the obscurity, his small frame would sag forwards. An empty shell, void of emotion. A potato sack. The ghosts ebb away, leaving him with nothing but sheer, numb emptiness. He passes his tongue over his chapped lips in a smooth, languid motion, ironing down flakes of dried skin with puddles of remaining moisture.

She sets the cup down. He leans back, sliding underneath the sheets dazedly. He feels a limb draped over his head. A hand gripping his scalp with a firm clasp. Soft, rhythmic breathing. A silent, comforting presence.

And he knows that the ghosts will be kept at bay…

At least until the sun sets once more.

* * *

On one such night, instead of remaining still, Conan sits up once again. His voice comes as a hoarse, broken whisper: "I haven't answered your confession yet."

This jolts the girl out of her slumber. Just as she is about to protest, or revoke her "confession," he speaks: "I… I'm sorry. There's no one I will ever love like Ran." Then, he adds: "You're a precious friend, Haibara."

She smirks. Her entire face forms a crisp, unyielding mask. Her lips and eyes narrow and she swings her feet over the side of the mattress. "It's alright. I was joking anyways." She enunciates coolly, coming to a stand- escaping in a leaden, gradual matter.

He knows she is lying, but makes no move to prevent her from leaving. Lazily, he lowers himself back down, his malevolent ghosts drifting towards him once more.

That night, he swears he heard Moonlight Sonata being played on the grand piano.

* * *

Yup, each of these will involve piano somehow… why? Cause it's AWESOME! Anyways, thanks to those who have reviewed **(Romeo-Juliet, , Fluehatraya, guest, Joker Arisu, Gazillionaire, hai-edogawa, James Birdsong, Akira Kudo, roxifoxi, and Runa)** and to those who have _also _checked out my other story, Metamorphosis **(Romeo-Juliet and James Birdsong)**

Hope you'll tell me what you think of this chapter too :3


	4. Music to the soul part 3

Conan vaguely remembers Ran's funeral. There had been no body due to the Organisation incarcerating any incriminating evidence. The fogs of amnesia- the desire to forget anything related to her death- blurs his memory of the event.

Still, there is _something. _

There is a melody he can recall distinctly; a sorrowful chain of notes weaving itself into his soul, each melding seamlessly into the next, each grim, yet forming a harmonious, colorful chorus of voices. Why would he remember such a thing? Why would he remember a song instead of Kogouro's tears or his own, unbearable sadness?

He sprawls his limbs around him, embedded in the tall, wispy folds of his bed sheet. Maybe it embodies the essence of his grief. Maybe as it sang, it was singing _with_ him… _for _him. _Ran plays the piano, _he remembers, wincing. _Played… _He cannot bring himself to refer to her in past tense. It is unthinkable- to fling her memory away so quickly. _She is still there… _he urges himself to believe his words, _she can't be gone. Not Ran, no not…_

_Stop. _

His thoughts are brought to an instant halt. He is not being logical. He has seen this behaviour before- observed it from a distance. It has always been someone else bearing the weight of death. Never him; he has been untouchable. _Denial, _he labels his frantic conduct. Conan almost tells himself that he is different, that he is not manipulated by such rudimentary psychological structuring, but a voice penetrates the thick haze of his cogitation.

"Eat."

_Soft… soprano yet not shrill. _

A plate is set besides him. "Do I need to feed you like a baby?" Haibara. She is the only person still treating Conan the same. Not as a dejected, pitiable child- not as a person to be handled with care, not like brittle, delicate china.

Conan replies with an idle shake of the head; he eats as a necessity. For need rather than pleasure. In fact, every task he accomplishes is now a tedious requisite for survival. _Maybe… maybe I should stop._ He does not believe in his ability to destroy the organisation, nor save his loved ones. His purpose has vanished. Once a puppet to his ambitions, he now hangs lifelessly- the supporting threads of comfort and love having been snipped in one, swift move.

_You win, black organisation._

He throws his head back dismally.

_Checkmate._

* * *

"Don't run from your fate."

Conan gives her a weak, quizzical stare. "That's what you told me, neh?" Haibara peers through her mask, a half-smirk, half-smile plastered onto it. Her eyes though… her eyes tell another story. Sadness. Pure, unaltered disappointment. "Do as you say, not as you do? I know how it is, Kudo-kun, but you cannot run away. Every time you do, someone is injured, someone is falsely convicted, someone _dies, _Kudo. One failure, no matter how momentous, does not mean you are incapable to save others."

And she departs just as quickly as she came, her passage marked by an inconspicuous shift of air, a tray of steaming curry… and her statement.

These words linger, tugging at his soul just as the haunting melody does.

And gradually, he begins to realise that she is right.

* * *

He sits on the leather bench, erect. His fingers hang, suspended over the rows of keys before him. _What __**was **__it? _And why is he trying so hard to remember it? Slowly, he lowers his left hand over the middle C, fingering the C# key uneasily, scraping it with his nail in an effort to somehow coerce information out of the piano. _I have perfect pitch. I should be able to remember it. _Then an idea is sparked. _What key was it again? _He squints, sliding his hand onto the border of the piano before gripping it with sudden concentration. Although it is dim, the memory allows him to hum an inaccurate, erroneous rendition of the underlying melody. _C… C major? Or A minor? _

He ponders: "Most likely A minor."

_Do. _The sound of a finger digging into a key and unknowingly striking a chord in the back of the grand piano. A small shadow looms over the boy and the keys, a single, slim arm branching from its source. As a chin is pressed against the back of his head, a second limb surges from the figure above, poising itself delicately besides him and thus sandwiching his figure between the two.

They play.

Fingers undulate- caressing the keys ephemerally- arms reaching over and under each other, running up and down the keys. They brush against Conan's neck, fingertips entwining slew upon slew of notes. But he is immobile, following the song with rapt, undivided attention. Tendrils of sound reach out and entangle him in their woeful lament, and he allows them to do so, almost obligingly, as he is drawn utterly towards them.

It is _the_ requiem. It is the song. And he _basks_ in it; he is _emerged _in its anguish and remorse, allowing his own torments to fuse seamlessly with those presented before him. It compels something deep within him to rise to the surface...

Tears. Warm trails of glistening water- embodying his sorrow in their tiny forms. Drops well in the corner of his eyes but he makes no effort to blink them away. How long has it been since he had cried? He realises now that he has not yet cried for Ran. During the funeral, he had felt hopeless, yes. He had felt the weight of sadness and remorse coil in the pit of his stomach. But he had not once cried. He could not.

Now he does. He weeps almost dazedly, blue, wide glittering eyes fixated on the keys before him. His nails still hang onto the instrument's border while the other being strums his soul with her soft, melodious playing. Tears trickle down, carrying his agony onto the piano. They dapple crisply over black and white polygons, distorting their image in their globular forms, blotting their immaculacy with ostensible transparency, but also true, inky despair.

The music runs a series of notes before ending. Hands remain momentarily before rising smoothly and disappearing behind the boy. The weight of her head on his is lifted as she comes to a stand. _It's beautiful, _he realises. Somehow, he no longer feels as hopeless- his burden has been alleviated.

"This… song?"

The girl behind him utters quietly: "Grief and Sorrow."

Once she has disappeared, Conan shifts in his seat. He runs his finger over his neck, feeling tiny pricks of water.

Salt water.

* * *

"Haibara!" He dredges the house for the girl. "Haibara!? Where are you? Haibara!?"

He turns a corner and there she is. Oddly, her eyes are veined with red, a stray strand of hair adhering to her cheek. "That's the most you've said all week," she simpers. When she does, he can almost convince himself that things are like they have always been. That everything is alright…

But then he notices the moistness of his cheeks, and his purpose is brought back to light.

"Teach me." He pleads her with huge, imploring eyes. "Teach me that song."

She pauses for a moment; hand on hip, deep in thought. The girl stretches out her hand, palm facing upwards: "27, 256 yen."

"Huh?"

"It should take you about two weeks to learn it. Each lesson costs 1964 yen due to my qualifications, and there will be approximately fourteen such lessons. Deal?"

Conan balks, but his expression of astonishment quickly morphs into one of annoyance. 27, 256 yen is a lot for a grade school student. And even for an adult.

Haibara's mouth curls up, drawing her face into a narrow-eyed smirk. "I'm joking." She wouldn't say it out loud, but if a piano piece could help him overcome his grief, she would gladly spend a whole year teaching him how to play it.

"Come," she urges him to follow her as she walks down the stairs.

"Now?" The boy seems to have been taken off guard. Perhaps, he did not expect her to be eager to teach him.

She nods mildly and a small smile appears on Conan's face. Although it holds a twinge of sadness, there was a time where he thought he would no longer be able to smile at all. The little boy regains his senses, hurtling down the stairs, keen on being able to create, no, to _weave_ such a beautiful melody himself.

Together, they will spend countless hours, the piano singing under their touch, their fingers overlapping as Haibara mimics the movement for him.

Little by little, Conan will start to live again.

* * *

I guess this will be a bit longer than expected (e-e) since this isn't the end.

Thank you to those who reviewed (krikinalo, VivGlam, and hai-edogawa as the people I answered in PM). Now, to answer the guest reviews:

Guest: I think he is rather blunt. I mean look how he confessed to Ran .-. Yup, his interactions with Haibara are much more special than those with Ran X3 Ah, and indeed I do have a multi-chaptered fic exploring their relationship… it's called Metamorphosis although it only has one chapter atm.

James Birdsong: Thanks :3

Joker Arisu: Was it the tormented Conan that was out of character? Or his response…? Glad you liked it :D

Runa: Yesh, you are right XD Thank you! I hope I'll be able to remain consistent with the quality of my work o.

It's only been two years since I've started to really learn English, so for people to compliment my writing is thrilling :D Thanks guys! And thanks for the criticism also. It helps me improve with every chapter I write.

Question: Would you like me to upload the three soundtracks which inspired each chapter? (Each is based on a song I can play on the piano.)

PLEASE REVIEW for a faster update!


	5. Music to the soul part 4

Hey guys! The series is not done yet! Lol XD This took all my willpower to write and not collapse exhaustedly from my homework load.

* * *

It has been three years since her death.

Conan has been playing piano for two hours, looping Grief and Sorrow again and again, in a perpetual, intoxicating jumble of notes. He has not worn his glasses for a year. A girl is poised besides him, slim fingers curved around the rim of the sleek, gleaming instrument. The piano itself is not the finest specimen, but as a soft, warm glow is cast through folds of thin fabric, any reflective facet seems iridescent beneath its touch. Ripples of music perturb the air, carving a melancholic, indefinable curve of the lips on the girl's face, vibrations percolating through her fingertips and quivering into the depth of her being.

"I can't…" She hears. The boy gazes up at her, his piece coming to an abrupt end. Irises shaking indecisively, he appears like a small, frightened boy pleading silently for her to come to his aid. "Acceptance is the last stage, isn't it, Haibara?"

The girl nods tentatively. "But I can't just accept this," Conan declares harshly, his eyes narrowing determinedly, "I can't _accept_ her death! I have to keep her…" His glare wavers, hesitation creeping into his voice. "I have to keep her with me… I have to fight this ridiculous theory…"

A hand grips his shoulder.

She speaks slowly, softly, and deliberately. "That's not true Kudo-kun. I have never lost Akemi. I have accepted her death as yet another lemon the tree of life hurls upon me, but I have not lost her. Every moment spent with her, I cherish it still, dwelling on every memory we shared."

The shrill chirps of Chickadees prick the air, filling the ensuing pause. Conan lets his head sag lower, strands of hair swinging forward. "But I- I _am_ losing her," his phrase is drawn like a lamenting passage, shoulders tremble under her gentle clutch, "_again_." His voice cracks as he croaks this last word. And she could feel him snapping inside, threads of sanity severed to unleash the wave of despair they had kept at bay for so long. The barrier is penetrated by the tined spear of nostalgia, fractured by the fear that _she_ would perish indefinitely.

He feels her dwindling already.

"I'm _scared…" _for the first time in years, he utters these words. Oh, there were many times when he refused- with his detective pride- to admit his fear. For by doing so, he would be conceding defeat; detectives should remain impassive and unattainable, never allowing emotions to hinder logic. But now, he was allowing sentimentality to manipulate his life as if it were a stringed marionette. "I'm scared that I could lose her; that I could lose anyone. I _never_ want to go through that again. She was still alive when I got to her, you know?" His tone softens as he peers up at her. Sunlight falls, draped across his face, his eyes glittering in its sheen. "And it just hit me. I was denying the fact that she could be in danger this whole time. The sight was a slap in the face: her body pierced with Gin's bullets, her blood," he gags, "oozing around her. Like a flower... a scarlet flower blooming around her head."

He unfolds his legs, throwing his head back in a swift, abrupt motion. Conan's small frame stands upright, stepping into the pools of light slavering over half of the piano. His eyes sear into her skin with liquid fire as he proclaims: "How freaking STUPID am I? Why the heck would I _stay _in Japan after getting involved with them? I was infatuated with living on the edge, feeling the thrill; the adrenaline coursing through my veins was what I lived for. It felt like the perfect challenge. I was _selfish. _Purely, wickedly self-centred and nothing else." He pulls a hand towards his face, clasping it over his right eye and running it down his cheek. "What is wrong with me…? Not even a murderer endangers others simply for pleasure."

He chokes the words out with a pained smile: "I am worse than a murderer."

"Then so am I," Haibara locks gazes with steely conviction. "You did not stay because of that Kudo; don't lie to yourself. You remained in Japan for _her. _Cases stick to you like cement; you could have gone anywhere to experience a thrilling trial, but you knew that if you left for good, you would break her heart."

"She would find another."

"She would wait for you forever and you know that," she spits, sounding almost… _acrimonious_… As she notices the involuntary rancour she has allowed to escape her façade, the small child draws her lips inwards, tensing as her mask spreads over her entire face. "Even if you told her you wouldn't come back, she would wait for her one and only lover. You of all people should know this."

He concedes reluctantly, as he knows she is right. Wordlessly- as there is nothing much to be said - he drops down, plopping his rear back onto the bench. His hand wanders, roaming over the keys, eager to fill the silence. Oftentimes, he finds the absence of speech pleasant in her presence: a moment of mutual understanding only they can share. But this time, he cannot bear the weight their wordless conversation holds.

It is a plight only music can solve.

Tentatively, he dips his fingers into the keys, ripples emanating once more from the puddle he is roving; each note dissolving into the next like waves swishing gently against each other. His right hand traces the melody he has become so accustomed to hearing- trailing his finger about the pond, slicing through the cobalt abyss with a single paw. This tune has become part of him now. Just like air, water, and food, he relies on a mere song for sustenance. One could say it has substituted the mental nourishment cases have provided for him in the past, but he would tell you that it provides a different kind of support.

He cannot explain it, but, now that he thinks about it, it is much like spinning wool: creating something very similar to the original one, while feeding off of it- depleting its reserves. He is creating a woeful melody while draining his own, agonising sorrow. Every time the thought of never seeing Ran again becomes too insupportable, this is his outlet.

Conan must admit that he has Haibara to thank for it. As autonomous as he is, he did not want to rely on anyone in his hour of weakness. But now he cannot deny the support she has given him; he cannot deny that she has fulfilled the claim uttered long ago.

_"This time, let someone be there for you."_

_"This time, __**I **__will be there for you."_

He has never asked her for recompense in exchange for the multiple times he has saved her- swooping in and shielding her from death at the peril of his own life- but he has also been paid back in full. _Who knew I would one day rely on her? _No, he has relied on her before that also. He has simply disregarded it. She has been as brave as Ran, tackling him to take his place as the victim of an unfortunate chunk of concrete; granting him antidotes she had spent her every waking moment creating… but never did he truly take time to reimburse her.

He has treated her as a mere convenience.

"I'm sorry...Haibara."

She gazes at him, startled. Then, frowning, she presses a palm against his forehead: "Hmm, you haven't caught a fever, have you?" Conan is skeptic until a mocking smile creeps onto her face. _Hehe, that's the Haibara I know, _he snickers with a lopsided grin.

But as he pulls his fingers from the piano, concluding the song with an unsatisfactory drawl, his expression grows grim. Intrepidly, he bears his earnest, solemn stare into her cynical one: "I haven't thanked you yet for staying. I mean that's pretty out of character for you- usually you're more selfish." Her glare grows penetrating. Conan reels, feeling the inky aura beginning to seethe out of her. "Ah… um, that's not what I meant… I mean…" _Damn. How do I say this without sounding insincere? _"You're precious to me Haibara." She narrows her eyes suspiciously, mask materialising. "As a friend," he adds quickly.

She sighs tightly: "I have a lot of free time." Her retort is spoken without a hint of sarcasm; her gaze is steady and her arms folded neatly behind her. "That's all."

_You really don't have to thank me, _he reads in the arching of her eyebrows.

"I have to stick with you until we can defeat the organisation," she smirks, "after all, you can't do it without me." Conan grows thoughtful. _Defeat the organisation…? _He ponders, perturbed. He had given up on that idea long ago- afraid to endanger anyone else.

And… he couldn't bear the idea of losing Haibara. The one who understands him without him uttering a word. The one who can converse with him on equal terms without zoning out, getting frustrated or asking him "What happened to you? You used to be so perfect, so amazing…" Even those closest to him would regard him with disdain. _No! _He wants to shriek. _I was not perfect. It was all a façade, all an act- pretending I was better than everyone else. _She is the only one who has undergone a similar trial, putting on a guise to deceive those around her. Conan shakes his head vehemently: "What are you talking about? The FBI is already on track with ensnaring one of the main members of the organisation." It was old news, he knew. Years ago, they had been able to record a conversation between one of the organisation's top assassins and his doomed underling. They had deduced astonishing facts from the snippets of conversation they gleaned; but the anticipation soon died down as months slogged by without any sign of the man. Were they wrong? Or had the man merely circumvented their every attack?

Conan knew the truth, and it was much grimmer than that. The organisation was not merciful unto those who made mistakes.

"What a fallacious argument," she purses her lips, "but you know that, don't you? I'm not asking you to return to your egotistical, 'heroic' old self. Didn't I tell you could _rely_ on me? Or are you so haughty as to avoid considering my proposition." She smirks, but her stare is leaden and firm.

It's true. It does wound his pride to have to depend entirely on a girl he has failed to appreciate. There were times he thought he would be better off without the "traitorous scientist." In fact, some of his initial anger afterwards had been directed towards her. _After all, _he had thought, _if she hadn't developed the drug, this would never have happened. She would still be alive. _At that moment, he would have gladly swapped Haibara for his childhood friend; he would have delivered her to the organisation without a second thought if it meant being able to revive Ran…

_Not anymore. _Not anymore, he realises. Why is forlorn admiration the only emotion welling up in his chest when he thinks of _her_? Not the wrenching impression of fated love, not even a spark of infatuation conjured by her smile. Oh how he rebels against it, attempting to create those feelings for himself- trying to chase away the cold, hard jab of guilt.

Why can't he love her anymore…?

_I'm sorry Ran, _he weeps, facing the heavens.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

He cannot possibly be falling for Haibara. _Anyone _but her_. _But the more he chants it, the more he doubts his own convictions and the more he notices the little things.

_The pounding in his chest._

_The euphoria when she tosses a casual smirk._

_The utter blissfulness of long conversations._

_The loss of time and space in her azure gaze._

Even as a child, she is beautiful to him. Beautiful in her comprehension, in her intelligence, in her piano playing. She is a graceful, intoxicating creature with layers of depth and intelligence beneath her taciturn surface. Conan's Irene. And he cannot help but marvel that he has not seen this before.

But when he musters enough courage to tell her this, she diagnoses him with post-traumatic disorder and disillusionment. She tells him that it is impossible. That he is simply trying to fill the void Ran has left in his life. How narrow her glare is, how wrathful and sardonic her tone; he knows she is fine living as his friend, that she cannot allow herself to hope more than that.

That day, he leaves the house for the first time in years. Meandering about the streets, aimless and desperate. "Love problems?" a gruff voice inquires; a raggedy man with grimy overalls, bushy eyebrows and a dishevelled, dust-specked beard. His golden, opalescent eyes are filled with wisdom Conan did not expect to find.

With a casual tip of the head and his hands contorting uneasily in his pockets, he mumbles: "I don't know." After all, maybe she is right. Maybe he is trying to replace the one he lost by convincing himself that he loves her. Maybe it is not love at all that he has found…

Nevertheless, it feels undeniably real; perhaps even more powerful than his past bond with Ran. Because they are equal. Because they rely on each other. Because they are intrinsically connected. And if Haibara died, he would have no one to turn to and would undoubtedly perish.

That, he is sure of.

He will show her that he is not lying. That she is, yes, different, but that she is marvellous in her own way; that she deserves to be loved despite all the "obscene acts" she had committed in the past; and that, above all, he loves her. He will show her not by superfluous gifts or affectionate pet names (he could only imagine what she would do if he dared perpetrate such a dreadful act) but by accepting her offer and proposing his own.

"We'll be there for each other, right?"

She will understand.

For that is simply the way they are.

* * *

To Hai-Edogawa: I'm so sorry for not having written chapter two of Metamorphosis yet! Gah! School is murderous DX

**Thank you to Guest, Hai-edogawa, Joker Arisu, Viv Glam, marutaro, and krikinalo for reviewing.** **Please tell me what you think of this chapter also :D**

Apparently people tend not to review because of their insecurity with their ability to do so. I say don't be intimidated! I was reclusive at first as well, but- trust me- anything you say from "that was awesome" to a two page long ConCrit will make the author so happy. (If it doesn't, they're jerks) My first reviewer just said "please write more soon this story is awesome," and that alone kept me going for five chapters or so.

…yup.

If enough people review, I _may _write a last little scene where they finally get together… so c'mon people ;)


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